


The Common Ground of Serfs and Kings

by lawrencetheshark



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, M/M, im so sorry, this is really bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawrencetheshark/pseuds/lawrencetheshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A peasant and a preacher, a commoner and a king. What could they possibly have in common?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Common Ground of Serfs and Kings

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so this is actually REALLY bad, it was my first time writing Gamzee and Tavros. In fact I think I was just about almost done Act 5 when this crap flowed from my fingers.  
> I'm just posting it here to see if it's at all worth rewriting. Please. It needs your help, like, pretty hardcore.  
> Perspective changes after pesterlog sections, I know it isn't clear at all...yeah...try your best...  
> im actually really ashamed with my writing in this fic holy shit...

Everyone is gone. Nobody is online and nobody is outside. It's the dead of night but the world is still positively silent outside your hive. The only noises inside are the tiny, faint honks the horns you're laying on make as you breathe. All this quiet gives you time to think, which really isn't the best thing, but you do it because you've got a few things eating at your think pan.

You haven't ever really spoken to anyone face-to-face before outside of the game. That's just how things are in your world, but it doesn't stop you from thinking you might like to. You realize you don't know if any of your Internet buds live anywhere close by. Not only that, they don't even pretend to get you anymore. They don't understand your miracles. They don't understand your beliefs. They don't understand a thing. And, you're sure, if they did, they would be too frightened to stick around. You know because that's almost what happened in the game.

Your name is Gamzee Makara, and you know what it feels like to be alone.

Most of your life you've spent with an uncontrollable urge to kill. But you like to pretend that you don't know that; you like to get high and stay high so your blood can't get in the way of having fun. Soon, though, even that isn't enough, and you've got yourself a moirail, that candy blooded Karkat. But a moirail is kind of useless when you WANT to be mad and you WANT to kill people. When you want something you get it, no matter what motherfucking thing is getting in your motherfucking way, right?

Except when that thing you want is a matesprit.

You want a matesprit pretty badly. You're almost ten sweeps old, you've got your moirail and kismesis, so why don't you have a matesprit?

Because you're fucking alone.

You guess that's all you ever really wanted anyhow. Someone to hold you and to get you and to not be fucking scared because you scare yourself sometimes when you think about how bad you feel for wanting to hurt people. It ain't natural to feel sore over killing other trolls because YOU are the highblood up on this land and YOU make the rules around here. But you think you'd probably give up feeling bad about feeling bad if you had a matesprit.

The subject of killing and feeling bad makes your think pan hurt, so you stop it and go back to thinking about matesprits.

The subject of matesprits makes you feel fucking lonely, so you start thinking about miracles.

You're pretty high right now, like you kind of always are these days. Since your moirail and you don't see each other anymore you figure it's the only way to stay out of trouble, which is something you never really cared about before but after the SGRUB session you've rethought some things.

Which reminds you to wonder how you and all of your friends are even possibly still or back to being alive on Alternia. Didn't most of them die? Some by your hand? Those ones don't seem to remember the game at all but it kind of causes you nightmares sometimes so you don't really sleep. Didn't the Reckoning destroy Alternia? You came back to an empty hive but it was exactly the way you left it.

Empty. In tact, but empty.

You decide you can't possibly think about any of this anymore and as you decide this, a noise sounds from your husktop on the floor by your head. It looks like one of your bros is trolling you and you kind of aren't in the mood anymore—maybe it's time for more pie?—until you see the name **adiosToreador.**

* * *

 

You sigh with wistful longing and forced patience as your computer loads. There's nobody around to talk to or play with anymore after your lusus died—which you don't hardly remember happening, but it apparently happened because you're alone in your hive. It's been strange lately because nobody's been trolling you; not even Vriska, who enjoys heckling the heck out of you more than anything.

Of course you're kind of okay with that, you mean, you're a lowblood and really you're kind of surprised that you aren't dead after nine and a half sweeps. You guess you aren't even worthy of a highblood's malice, much less his time. Which is cool, because you don't really want to die without having the adventure you can just feel is creeping up on the horizon. You just wish you didn't have to face that adventure alone because it's difficult to be an adventurer in a chair.

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and you're an expert at being alone.

You've spent most of your life playing games and having adventures created around and based entirely on fiction and fantasy. You've played with friends you met online but have never seen face-to-face. Of course that's kind of okay with you because you wouldn't want to incur the wrath of a troll of higher blood than Vriska and ending up worse than just paralyzed.

Loneliness is kind of the most basic emotion you have since it's been with you most of your life. You've never really had true friends, at least not any that you could do real things with. In all honesty you were kind of getting sick and tired of living in a world of fantasy that belonged to other people.

So now you just kind of lived in a world of fantasy created by you.

It got lonely, yes, but as you thought before, loneliness is probably your most basic emotion and it's easy now to push it back. Especially at times like these when you feel like talking to your strange but respectable friend Gamzee.

You know he's a highblood. You know all about the Subjuggulators and pretty much everything involving the highest of highbloods. You know how fucking scary it would be if Gamzee ever freaked out on you, but you figure he's probably got too many people busy worshipping him and groveling so they don't get killed to get too cross with you. So you've always felt pretty safe talking to him, and he doesn't seem to care that you're a brownblood; in fact he always takes time to talk to you. You find it rather strange but you don't complain because nobody else will talk to you these days.

Once your computer finally loads you pull up Trollian and immediately click the name **terminallyCapricious**.

**\- adiosToreador began trolling terminallyCapricious [TC] at 23:27 -**

**AT: uHH, hEY, GAMZEE**

**TC: hEy ThErE tAvBrO, wHaTs MoThErFuCkIn Up**

**AT: uHH, jUST BORED, i GUESS**

**AT: wHATS, uHH, gOING ON WITH YOU**

**TC: nOt A wHoLe MoThErFuCkIn LoT**

**TC: eXcEpT tHe MiRaClEs MaN**

**TC: cAnT tUrN tHoSe MoThErFuCkErS oFf**

**AT: uHH, i GUESS NOT**

**AT: hAHA,**

**TC: hOnK :O)**

**TC: sO wHaTs My LiTtlE MoThErFuCkEr BeEn OcCuPyIn HiMsElF wItH these DaYs**

**TC: bEeN aLl Up On AnY mOrE mOtHeRfUcKiN aDvEnTuReS**

**AT: uHH,**

**AT: nO, nOT ANY REAL ADVENTURES**

**AT: jUST, uHH, yOU KNOW,**

**AT: FAKE ONES**

**TC: tHe FaKe OnEs ArE tHe BeSt OnEs My BrOtHeR**

**TC: lEtS yA kNoW wHaT yOuR tHiNk PaNs ReAlLy MaDe Of**

**AT: oHH, uHH,**

**AT: i NEVER REALLY THOUGHT OF IT, uHH, THAT WAY**

**AT: tHATS GREAT,**

**TC: gReAt IdEaS bE aLl Up In ThIs MoThErFuCkIn ThInK pAn I gOt**

**TC: pRoBaBlY cOmEs FrOm AlL tHiS tImE tO tHiNk**

**AT: uHH, wHAT?**

**TC: hOnK :O)**

You sit back in your wheelchair. Time to think? Well, maybe this was just the time of night where he didn't have much of anything to do? That seems like a reasonable assumption and you figure you shouldn't question it further since he's taking the time to talk to you.

**AT: nOT VERY, uHH, bUSY TODAY?**

**TC: nEvEr BuSy MoThErFuCkEr**

**TC: jUsT mE hErE aLoNe WiTh My HuSkToP aNd SlImE lIkE aLwAyS**

**TC: hOnK :O/**

**AT: rEALLY? }:o**

**TC: yEaH mOtHeRfUcKeR**

**TC: bEiN aLoNe MeAnS nObOdY tElLiN yOu WhAt To AlL uP aNd ThInK**

**TC: aNd NoBoDy TeLlIn YoU tHeRe AiN't No MiRaClEs**

You smile lazily at your husktop screen. Tavros is your good bro and you like talking to him, especially since you know he holds you to a higher standard than you ought to be held. You know from your time in the game that he sees you as being one of those tyrannical kings from his fantasy tales. You explained to him what it was really like being a highblood before, but that was during the session and of course everyone who came back from being dead has no memory of the game at all.

You realize you're starting to pity this motherfucker hardcore.

**AT: dOESN'T IT GET, uHH, LONELY SOMETIMES?**

**TC: sUrE dOeS, aLl ThE mOtHeRfUcKiN tImE tAvBrO**

**AT: rEALLY?**

**TC: nOt AlL gRoVeLiNg WoRsHiPpErS aNd RiChEs LiKe YoU aLl Up AnD tHoUgHt, Eh MoThErFuCkEr**

**AT: uHH,**

**AT: i GUESS NOT,**

**AT: sORRY, MAN**

**TC: hEy TaVbRo**

**AT: uHH, yEAH, gAMZEE?**

**TC: yA wAnNa AlL uP aNd WhEeL oVeR tO mY hIvE?**

You don't know why you invited the lowblood over. You have no idea where he lives and of course your heart (or whatever you've got that's similar to one) is beating so fast it kind of scares you. But you kind of know he's lonely and you kind of know he always is and youdon't want him to have to be. Sure, he's a lowblood. It's a wonder he's even still alive. But he's the only one who could ever really get you, because he is, in fact, just like you.

Like you, except without the anger issues and bloodlust.

**AT: uHHH„,**

**AT: wELL, uHH, SURE**

**AT: wHERE, uHH, eXACTLY IS YOUR HIVE?**

**terminallyCapricious sent adiosToreador the file**

**TC: cAn Ya FoLlOw ThAt MoThErFuCkEr? CiRcLeD mY hIvE iN pUrPlE**

**TC: aN aDvEnTuReR oUgHt To Be AlL uP aNd BeIn MoThErFuCkIn GrEaT aT rEaDiN mApS**

**AT: uHH, yEAH, i CAN FIGURE IT OUT**

**AT: i'LL BE THERE SOON**

**AT: uHH, i GUESS**

**TC: hOnK :O)**

**\- adiosToreador ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC] at 00:23 -**

You stare at the screen for a moment, memorizing the chatlog. You can feel your fingers going numb and your heart (or whatever you've got that's similar to one) is beating so fast it kind of scares you. Sounds familiar, right? Of course not, you can't hear me. But it makes you start to blush anyway, and you start to get restless. You wheel yourself back from your main computer (because like any sensible person you've got at least 5 on your person) and head towards your hive door.

Your name is Gamzee Makara, and all you can do is wait.

The sun is coming up on Alternia when you hear a timid knock at your door. You grin at the "uHH, i'M HERE" message on your pesterlog before shuffling your way to the front to let your bro in.

"Heeeey motherfucker!" you greet him in your tired and nonchalant way. He blushes a bit and you just think it's adorable.

"Uh, hi Gamzee," he stammers. His tiny smile and timid but curious eyes do _things_ to you and you step aside to give your bro room to enter your hive. He needs more space than most trolls and you know that but he knows it too and tilts his head to get those adorably massive horns out of the way. Or maybe he tilts his head to avoid your eyes? You hope it's the former, but knowing his opinions of you, it's more likely the latter.

You squint as you start closing shutters and blinds. It's late, by which you mean early, and now that your good buddy is here, maybe you can sleep.

But you kind of don't want to sleep when you see him watching you with curiosity and awe. You know that look, you saw it when he first laid eyes on you in the game. He's trying to figure out what to think of your sloppy and ragged appearance, trying to put some pieces together in his mind. He doesn't remember that he's already figured you out through and through.

You smile at him and walk over. He blushes a little bit and his eyes widen, shrinking away from you a little as you reach to pat his head. But in a surprised way, not a fearful way.

"Motherfuckin great to see ya again, Tavbro," you chuckle.

He blushes. "Uh, again? We've met before?"

You feel your mind haze over and you're a little confused. Then you remember. Shit you remember. Tavros was one of the ones that died. He doesn't remember the SGRUB session at all.

So you laugh and shake your head. "Guess motherfuckin not," you chuckle.

He's staring at you. He's looking you over with those curious, timid, dumbfounded eyes that are just starting to leak a little blood color into the irises. And you wonder why he has that look, that face he hasn't turned your way since the very first time he saw you, and it's then that it hits you: this is the first time he's seen you. To his memory, anyway, and that makes you pretty motherfuckin embarrassed.

"Shit, bro, you ain't scared, are ya?"

The brownblood shakes his head a little too quickly and he stammers out a denial but you know better, you know he's scared shitless and all that confidence he thought he gained in the game is flat-out _gone_.

Your grin disappears for a moment, but then you can't remember what exactly you're frownin about so it springs right back up into place. "Welcome to my hive!" you say happily, swinging your arms out, gesturing to the wide-open space around you.

He looks around with timid eyes, taking in the splendour of the home you designed yourself. You've knocked down a few walls in the time you've lived here, mostly in fits of rage, but it's still comfortable and it's still home.

But you look around and you realize that it looks so much motherfucking better with Tavros sitting right in the motherfucking center of everything and you really don't think you'll make it out of tonight alive.

* * *

 

Your name is Tavros and you're really confused.

You're sitting in the middle of the hive of a highblood and you haven't been sneered at or hit or anything yet. You're really glad that it's Gamzee's hive because you're not scared of him; at least, you're not scared of him as a highblood. You're scared of him in that your pity is getting pretty hardcore. He has this entire huge place to himself. His lusus is missing, probably dead like yours, and even your breathing echoes off the walls. You doubt he thinks the reverberations are annoying, but to you it makes the entire place feel so much lonelier.

You can feel him watching you. You don't dare to look at him because well to be honest he doesn't look like you expected. You knew he had some sort of weird clown theme happening but you never expected this. You didn't expect his makeup to be all smudged and flaky and you didn't expect his polka-dotted trousers to be ripped apart up to the shin.

You bet he doesn't even notice.

You clear your throat and look back at him, remembering what he said about never having anyone but himself around. The words "I'm sorry" slip out of your mouth before you can stop them, and his eyes get wide. You slap your hand over your mouth as his grin disappears. You shrink away as he draws closer and oh fuck he's looking into your eyes.

His irises are just starting to turn purple. They're not as cloudy as they were not ten minutes ago when you arrived but shit they look like they're having a shit ton of trouble focusing on you.

"What's got you all up and getting your sorry on, motherfucker?" he asks softly. You're not sure if you like his voice at this volume. It's far more ominous.

You blush. Your blood-pusher is pumping about a mile a minute and your face is probably dirt-brown with your blush. You can't even fathom what possessed you to say that. You're pretty sure you just gave yourself away, and the fact that he's pulling your hands away from your mouth and leaning towards your face just take away any doubt that yes, you, Tavros Nitram, pretty much just confessed your pity for a highblood.

And you're pretty fucking happy you did.

Gamzee has pretty soft lips that taste like chalk and paint and when things heat up you can feel two little scars on them with your tongue. It surprises you enough that you actually bring yourself to pull away but he plunks himself on your lap and takes your face in his hands and there you go again. You're not very comfortable with his lips crushed against yours and his hands squeezing your cheeks and his tall lanky body on top of yours. That's okay though because you wouldn't even mind a death sentence if it meant you could keep kissing Gamzee for right now.

Your hands are on his hips before you know it and you wonder where that confidence came from. It isn't even all that weird to you, and you wonder why, just like you wonder why there's suddenly so much longing in the ways you touch each other. He's tugging at your Mohawk and whimpering like he's going to lose you. You're somehow pulling his waist closer like you don't want to let him go.

And suddenly, _suddenly_ , you're seeing things. You see Gamzee covered in blood and you see Vriska laughing at you and you can feel everyone's hatred and you can feel yourself dying and where the fuck did all of this come from? You pull back from Gamzee with a gasp and you realize he's crying, which scares you more because he must be sober and how do you know that?

"I'm so sorry, Tavros," he whispers. "So motherfuckin sorry. Why the motherfuck I couldn't be there the first motherfuckin time, why I had to fucking kill everyone. I don't motherfucking like the bodies, Tav, and I fucking hate all up and seeing yours with them."

Your thinkpan fills up with about a hundred thousand questions but you can only manage to say one thing, and that is, "My body will, uh, always be, um, y-yours, Gamzee."

He just cries harder and you suspect he's sure he's killed trolls and you suspect you died at some point and it wasn't him who killed you. None of it really makes any sense and you have no idea how to comfort Gamzee at all. So you kiss him again.

* * *

 

Your name is Gamzee and you need to get a fucking hold of yourself.

Since when do you cry? You don't motherfuckin cry. But you did know that Tavros was remembering things and you got scared. You're all right now, though, right? Because he's kissing you and you want to take him and swallow him, drown him in your pity and mix your castes together like some sort of motherfuckin miracle drink or some shit.

So you just do what you do. You climb off of his lap and lift him out of his chair and make your way to someplace you can set him down comfortably.

He squeaks in protest but you don't stop kissing him long enough to let him actually speak. You want to see that gray skin all up and getting its expose on. He squirms but actively participates in the removal of clothing.

His upper body is pretty motherfuckin toned, and you guess you'll thank Vriska for that someday. His chest is heaving and he's looking up at you like the most pitiful and scared motherfucker on the face of the planet. But he looks like he trusts you and hey that's plenty okay with you.

When you're both naked you can't stop yourself from lying right down on top of him. You both moan and it's got some kind of miracle harmony to it, like your voices were made to be together or some noise. What a fucking mess you're going to make out of him, especially if this romantic bullshit is going to keep darting into your think pan the whole time you're doing this.

You're really starting to like this whole not thinking thing and you wish he would too because you can see that his mind is all a-whirrin and you're really not motherfuckin enjoyin that, not while you're rubbing one of his massive horns and he's squirming under you like he is.

* * *

 

How in the hell did you get here?

One minute you were sitting in your chair all pretty-like and now you're all exposed underneath a clown whom you know to have a bit of lunacy in him. How you know that you can't really tell, maybe the flashbacks reminded you? Doesn't much matter because he's rubbing your horns and he somehow found the sensitive part up there and you can't take it.

You can't help but writhe against him, and these actions cause your bone bulge to wake up. You know he can tell when that happens, too, because his eyes snap down and meet yours and he grins all big and lazy-like.

"Well, good mornin' motherfucker," he chuckles deeply, reaching down towards where your bulge is wriggling. You feel yourself flush with color again, not embarrassed so much by the fact that he was reaching to touch you, but rather the hungry look in his eyes as he watched your bulge twist and turn and wrap around whatever got close enough to it.

"N-no," you squeak, jerking upwards and almost slamming your forehead against his. He pulls back abruptly, hand retracting just out of the reach of your searching bulge.

He smiles his calm, insane little smile and you feel bad. He pities you a lot and you pity him, Tav, why the fuck are you being this way? Because you're embarrassed. If it wasn't enough that your legs look pretty wimpy and useless compared to the rest of you, your bulge is really fidgety and that tends to freak people out a little. You don't want him touchin that thing.

"Aw, hey motherfucker, why you gonna all up an do that?" he coos, lopsided grin tilting his face a little. "Look at it, you're deprivin it of the fuckin mracle of my hands, bro. Just fuckin look at how fuckin excited that motherfucker is."

* * *

 

You smile inwardly when Tavros blushes. He's supporting himself on his hands, kind of staring at his bone bulge in horror and confusion. You think you might be just a little sicker than you initially thought because you just can't keep your eyes off that thing. It's wigglin around somethin fierce and you just wanna calm it down and there's only a few ways to do that.

You reach for it again, and Tavros tries to back away but oh hell no you ain't letting THAT happen. You grip his horn again and spread his legs a little with your free hand and dip your head down.

In a matter of about two seconds a good two inches of the thing is in your mouth and Tavros is letting out surprised moans and pushing at your shoulders in a halfhearted attempt to push you off of him. You think maybe he likes it because that little rascal tries to push deeper into your throat.

You close your eyes. You refuse to think and focus mainly on Tavros. His voice is high and he's pleading with you and pushing at you but sometimes he slips up and accidentally pulls your hair, your horns, your jaw, all of which just forces the wet writhing tentacle deeper. It's not all that big, but it isn't all that small either and you figure either way it's going to feel great all up and inside you, especially if it keeps on moving this frantically.

You lick and suck on it and he cries out and you moan at his taste which is kind of a pungent musty sort of metallic taste but it's fuckin miracles man so you don't care that it makes you want to go "BLUHH" and spit it everywhere.

Pretty soon he's given in and he's pulling at your hair intentionally, trying to keep you going down on him like you are. You're glad he's into it, but you really just want him inside you; your own bulge is writhing and rubbing against itself and your nook is dripping purple stuff onto the floor and well that just will not do.

* * *

 

Cool air hits your bulge and it coils. You look down but your eyes can't focus and that's partly because you're breathing heavily and sweating and holy crap you didn't know Gamzee would be so good with his mouth, partly because Gamzee moves quickly and he situates himself above you, straddling your waist.

"W-wait!" you squeak, slapping your hands on his chest. You're terrified. He wants to be bottom? You're so used to being dominated by everyone that it never occurred to you that Gamzee might _enjoy_ being dominated.

Your mind flicks back to the royalty in fairy tales and how nobody messes with them unless they want to be punished. You suppose even royalty gets tired of having things go their way all the time.

"What the fuck's the matter, Tavbro?" he grumbles. You expect to hear anger in his voice, but it's just really needy. He's gritting his teeth; you can hear fangs against fangs. He's shaking and…his fluids are _dripping onto your bulge_.

Oh Gog.

You shake your head, staring up at him almost in disbelief as he places his hands next to your head, his lips on your lips, his knees on either side of you and his nether regions…

You groan and your fidgety little bulge finds and wiggles into his nook. His breathing hitches. You feel heat rolling off of him in waves and you don't even want to compare it to the Alternian sun but oh hell you two are burning up. Your skin is probably starting to look like a fucking human penny because of how much you're blushing. You can't look at him. Oh Gog, you can't look at him, this is really embarrassing, what if he doesn't like it, what if it doesn't feel as good for him as it does for—

Your thoughts just kind of grind to a halt right there. Gamzee, your matesprit, your lover, your king, is situated firmly atop your bulge and he could have just been sitting on your lap for all anyone knew except for the fact that _you are wiggling uncontrollably inside his tight little nook_.

He lets out a puff of air in your face when he's seated. His breath smells like stale Faygo and fresher Sopor slime. It smells gross but despite that you turn your face towards him.

Your eyes are still closed as your hand comes up to grip his hip, the other covering your face. You can't look at him, and you wonder if he can look at you either.

* * *

 

You're a little fucking mad. Here you are, sitting on top of Tavros' bulge like a pretty little Scalemate strapped to the top of Terezi's tree, and he ain't even lookin at you. Panting, you reach out and tug at his hand.

"Tav," you try, strained. He's all the way in and you're virgin-tight (not a virgin, just that tight) and his fucking _bulge_ won't stop _moving_. It's so delectable and you could just eat your new matesprit all up and you might do just that if he doesn't look at you.

"Tav," you try again, pulling harder on his hand. "Why're you the one blushin, Tavbro? I'm the one gettin impaled here."

He cringes a little and opens one eye at you, blushing darker somehow, before looking away again.

You smile at your words. Was pun intended there? "Pun totally intended" you whisper seductively.

His bulge starts thrashing. ThrASHING. It isn't just wiggling, or writhing, it is thrashing inside your nook right now. You gasp and squeak and cry out and Tavros' eyes open wide as he gapes at you pleasured form starting to move up and down on his hyperactive bulge.

You can't help but notice through cracked eyelids the luscious need in his eyes. He's trying his best not to get worried every time you throw back your head and he's trying hard not to just stare at your face but he is completely failing.

"Looking is more fun, motherfucker," you chuckle haltingly, feeling the frantic tentacle curl and twist inside you as you move.

In what seems all too soon you are both staring at each other and exchanging sloppy hot kisses and your hands are leaving long purple marks on his back. One of his hands is firmly situated on your horn and the other is on your stomach—he's holding the base of your bulge for support.

Your noises and the noises of your skin on his skin and the scents coming off your skin and from your breath and hot damn you need a fucking pail because you are going to come soon and if his noises are any indication, he is, too.

And still you continue to ride him, all the while spewing profanities he would usually be appalled by but he's cursing too so you're kind of exempt from that rule.

Soon though your pace increases as much as you can make it and you feel yourself splatter onto Tav's chest, shooting up far enough to hit both of your chins where they touch beneath your kiss. In seconds his genetic material is dripping from your nook along with yours and his nook…well it never really has functioned quite the same after the accident.

In any case, you lift yourself off of him and collapse down beside him right fucking there on the floor beside him. You're both panting and the air doesn't smell too okay but again, it's miracles.

You tell him the sex was miracles too.

You ask if you'll be doing it again anytime.

"W-whenever you, uhh, like," he whispers as he curls into your chest.

* * *

 

You lay there for what seems like hours. Tav, you're lying there on a clown's lap in a murderer's arms and you remember that about him. Gamzee, you're out. Like a light. Kind of wish you'd made more Sopor pies for the road.

Tavros, you pity him, and you really hate it because peasants shouldn't pity a king.

Gamzee, you pity him hardcore because you're just the type of tyrant to enjoy the serfs.

Loneliness is the common ground of serfs and kings.


End file.
